It's midnight and all is quiet in my house. No televisions, no phones, no children running, no boys wrestling, and no blaring sounds from the daughter's iPod. It's times like these that I get to sit back, take that deep breath down to my toes and reflect upon the day and direction of our lives. My friend Cheri, feeding phenom / mother / writer / and all around great gal, wrote on Family Care and the special needs child last week. Families raising special needs children are different. We are just plain different. Our days, our nights, our fears, and our triumphs are so very different. We might be ecstatic over a bite of a sandwich. Intoxicated by the sound of a new word or phrase by a six year old. Captivated by the child who makes his first friend at fourteen. The world turns in a very unconventional manner for us, but it turns nonetheless.

For us, our very lives are often driven by therapy appointments, doctor visits, special foods, special equipment, special everything. The clock speeds up as we rush from place to place in an attempt to put the world on an even keel once again. The old adage, "Stop and smell the roses" takes on a whole new meaning for us.

Tonight, in the quiet of my room, I think about the spaces in between. I am inspired by Anthony Bourdain surprisingly. In a recent show he was in Japan learning the ancient art of ikebana, or flower arrangement, of all things. Japanese flower arrangement focuses less on the breathtaking beauty of the flowers themselves and more on the balance between the flowers and the space around them. A bouquet from an American florist would look mighty different than one based off the principles of ikebana. The normal bouquet is packed so tightly with flowers and greenery that no space is discernible from one bloom to the next. The Japanese arrangement almost seems sparce in comparison, and the focus is drawn to the beauty and harmony of the flowers with the surroundings.

Tonight, I'm looking for the beauty and the harmony in all things. Tonight, I am looking for the spaces in between. The spaces in between doctor visits, long trips in the car to yet another specialist, between trips to this therapist and that therapist, and the constant hum of pushing ourselves to do more, to be more, and to find more. The spaces in between often matter far more than any of the above.

My son has been to more specialists than I care to count. Been tested too often to remember. Sat in more waiting room chairs than most will see in a lifetime. Seen more PECS symbols than can fill a warehouse. Heard enough social stories to deafen a small country. These have been a part of our life for as long as I can remember but it's hard to remember the times we weren't running, we weren't pushing, we weren't here, there, and everywhere. It's hard to remember the quiet times. The times when we did absolutely nothing and merely enjoyed the silence together.

I believe they each have a place in the life of the special family. Yes, the doctors, the therapists, the testing, the push, push, push is a fact of life--but the quiet times must also have their place. The spaces in between sometimes matter more to the health and vitality of a family struggling to simply breath in and breath out. Struggling to make it through the day only to do it all over again as the sun rises.

Stop and take some time to simply BE. Be together with no expectations, no intentions, no agendas, and no anticipation of what comes next. Find the space in between and embrace the calm before the storm.